


I Quit

by chamel



Series: Hanging On For Dear Life: Songs of Cara Dune & Din Djarin [6]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: 3+1 Things, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship, Hugs, Misunderstandings, Personal Growth, Regret, Running Away, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25651594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamel/pseuds/chamel
Summary: She’ll miss him more than she can say, and honestly that’s all the more reason she should go. Letting herself get too attached only ever brings pain. She slings the small bag over her shoulder and turns back to look at the last person she can call a friend. He looks unimpressed, but that’s to be expected.(Three times Cara quits and one time she doesn't.)
Relationships: Cara Dune & Greef Karga, Cara Dune & Original Character(s), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Hanging On For Dear Life: Songs of Cara Dune & Din Djarin [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781008
Comments: 18
Kudos: 66





	I Quit

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning that this is a story pretty much entirely about Cara. She's flawed and damaged but she's growing. I've been reading a few fics in this type of format (3+1, or 5+1 things) and decided to give it a try. I'm actually really happy with how it turned out. I hope you enjoy!

_Every_ _time I try to make it_ _good, I make it worse_  
_Get the engine running, but I put it in reverse_  
_And half the time I lose the plot and I can't see the point of it_  
_And if that's all to a fire, then I quit_

1.

“You realize this is gonna come back and bite you in the ass, Dune?” Val tells her, arms crossed in front of his broad chest as he watches her.

“Maybe,” Cara allows. “If they ever find me.”

Val snorts at her. “Your chain code will be in every bounty hunter’s pocket inside of 3 months. I’d put money on it.”  
  
“Doesn’t mean they’ll find me.”

Cara looks down at the small bag she’s just packed: only a few treasured items, things she can’t part with. Everything else she’ll leave behind to delay the inevitable discovery of her desertion. If she’s lucky, they’ll think she got killed in the forest on a patrol, separated from her squad and eaten by some beast. She’s supposed to be out on that patrol now; slipping away was easy, getting back into the barracks less so. But she’s here now, and no one except Val is the wiser.

Even at the bag’s small size, it’s still half empty. She never was that sentimental, not about things. People, though… Good thing most of her friends died in the war, she thinks bitterly. Now there’s only her and Val. She’ll miss him more than she can say, and honestly that’s all the more reason she should go. Letting herself get too attached only ever brings pain. She slings the small bag over her shoulder and turns back to look at the last person she can call a friend. He looks unimpressed, but that’s to be expected.

“I’ll miss you, Val,” she tells him. It’s completely insufficient, but it’s what she has.

His face is so carefully arranged that it’s swung back the other way and become obvious that he’s fighting back a lot emotions. Well, obvious to her anyway. She hates to be the reason for it, but she can’t stay. Not after what happened to Siona and Noru.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Val says quietly, as if he’s been reading her mind.

“I know,” she answers. Not because she believes him, not totally anyway, but because it’s what he wants to hear. The simple fact of the matter is that their friends wouldn’t be dead if not for her, even if she wasn’t directly responsible for it. Even if the bastard that was sits in his fancy quarters and doesn’t think about them for a second. She does.

Val just gives her a weary sigh. She knows that their loss wears on him maybe even more than it wears on her, but he’s always been the stronger one. “Promise me you won’t get yourself killed,” he says.

“Only for a good reason,” she smirks.

“I guess that’s as much as I can ask for.”

He smiles at her sadly, and she tries her damnedest to ignore the tightness in her chest. Instead she walks over and gives him a tight hug. When he wraps his arms around her and squeezes back, all she can think is how this was a mistake. Her own emotions threaten to overwhelm her: grief and guilt and a bone deep ache of loss. Squeezing her eyes shut against the sting of tears, she pulls away and takes a deep breath.

She almost turns back, halfway to the door, but she can’t bear to see whatever’s on Val’s face right now. She doesn’t say goodbye, because she might not actually leave if she does.

2.

“What do you mean, you quit?” Greef demands incredulously.

Cara just laughs at him. He’s acting surprised, but she knew he saw this coming. “I mean I quit, Greef. We had a good run, and I’ll always be grateful for the job, but it’s time for me to move on.”

“Hmph,” he grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his body. “I’m going to yell at him for stealing my best enforcer, you know.”  
  
“Who’s stealing?” Cara mutters around her whiskey glass. “Maybe he’s just giving me a ride out of this system.”

Greef just rolls his eyes at her and goes to sit down at his table to reorganize the pucks that he organized a half hour ago. He ignores her, staring down as he turns on each puck, considers the bounty, and then puts it into a pile. The silence grates on her, putting an itch under her skin until she can’t stop herself from speaking.

“I mean, I’m just going to help him out on a few jobs.”  
  
“Mmhm,” Greef hums.

Another minute of silence stretches between them.

“Maybe I’ll even come back in a couple of months,” she offers.

“Whatever you say, Dune.”

“I just get restless, you know?” she says. Perhaps she has drunk more than she thought, but that doesn’t seem likely. It takes more than a few drinks to loosen her tongue. Idly, she wonders if Karga has a history as an interrogator that he’s hiding from her.

Greef pauses at his work and turns to scrutinize her. She waits expectantly for him to say something, but instead he just shakes his head and turns back to the pucks.

“You’re not going to say anything else?” She doesn’t know why she can’t shut up, like she wants him to try to convince her to stay.

“Is anything I say gonna change your mind?”

“No,” Cara answers defensively.

There’s a smile fighting its way onto his lips even as he is resolutely looking at the pucks and not her. “I’ll miss having you around here, Dune,” he says eventually.

“I’ll miss you too, Greef,” she tells him. It’s not something she would have ever thought she would say, when she started this. Over the last six months she’s come to have a certain affection for the gruff ex-magistrate, like the father she no longer has, and she knows he cares about her. “I won’t miss the dirtbags you call clients, though.”

“Fair enough,” Greef chuckles. “Try not to get yourself killed, ok?”

Her grin falters, and she takes another drink of her whiskey to cover it. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“Oh?” he asks, glancing up at her finally.

“An old rebel buddy of mine,” she explains. “You would have liked him. He didn’t take shit from me either.”

She can tell from the look he’s giving her that Greef wants to ask where he is now, but he doesn’t. She’s grateful. Doesn’t want to think about what might have happened to him. All that’s behind her now.

“We’ll come back and visit,” she tells him instead. It’s new for her: she’s never promised to come back when she’s left someone behind before. Maybe she’s growing.

Probably not, though, she thinks as she knocks back the rest of her drink.

3.

“What?”

She waits for more, but that’s it, that’s all he can manage to say, apparently. She can hear his voice break beyond the modulator, and it makes her chest clench painfully.

“I just said that I think it would be best if I spent some time on my own,” she replies, fighting to keep her voice even.

“Why?”

She’s reduced him to single syllables. Great. She had hoped to avoid this, had thought that if she explained it just so he would understand, but that was a fantasy now. The real reason lingers on her lips, begs to be said, but she can’t do it. Especially now that he sounds so hurt.

“It’s not you guys, you know I care about you,” she tells him truthfully. “It’s just… sometimes I need to be alone.” That part is a lie. She’s never once felt a need to be alone, not for long anyway. What she does feel the need for is to avoid getting too attached to people. She fears it’s already too late for that.

Din is still just staring at her like she’s speaking another language, and now she’s worried that he’s lost the ability to speak altogether. “How long?” he croaks out eventually.

Two words. Huh.

“What?” she asks, even though she knows exactly what he means.

“When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know,” she hedges. She didn’t expect this, really. She’s never had someone demand a return of her. It leaves a strange warmth in her stomach that she doesn’t really want to acknowledge. “A month, maybe? Two?”

Din nods and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Ok,” he sighs, his breath rushing as static over the modulator. “Ok.”

His obvious relief makes her uncomfortable. This was certainly not going how she had planned _at all_. Seeing them again, sure, but coming back… that kind of negates the whole point. She is trying to leave before everything goes to hell, as it inevitably does when she’s involved.

“Where will you go?” he asks. She can’t help but wonder if he’s asking so he can come looking for her if she doesn’t show up.

“I don’t know,” she repeats. “Somewhere quiet.”

“I could talk you back to Sorgan,” Din offers.

Cara laughs at that. It’s true, Sorgan is quiet, but she’s already got too much history there. Good thing it’s a big galaxy. “Nah. Thanks though.”

She watches as he moves forward ever so slightly, then stops himself, hesitating. It’s slightly disconcerting, because she doesn’t know what he’s going to do, but she just stands there, waiting. After another second he huffs out slightly and closes the distance between them in a few strides, wrapping his arms around her.

Cara stiffens with a sharp inhale. Hugs are decidedly not part of their usual repertoire. Grappling during sparring, a friendly pat on the back over clasped hands, even the occasional leaning on each other when bone tired: all of these things were normal. Din wrapping her in a crushing embrace, no.

She hasn’t hugged anyone like this since Val.

This is as much of a mistake as that was. More, even.

She swallows hard and slides her arms around his waist, but she doesn’t let herself relax. She might not actually leave if she does.

+1

When she sees him in the market she doesn’t know if he’s actually here for her or if it’s a coincidence. It’s been about six weeks since she left them, smack in the middle of her off-the-cuff estimate of when she’d return. This planet is quiet, but not entirely off the beaten path, and it’s not out of the question that he’d stop here for supplies if they happened to be in this quadrant.

(Why she had chosen such a planet to hide on, one where she’d be so easy to find, she didn’t really want to think too hard about.)

But if he knew she was here, surely he would be looking for her and not poking jogan fruits? Unless… unless he had decided he didn’t miss her that much after all. She shakes her head, trying to chase away the admittedly stupid idea. If he’d come back for her after six months away, surely six weeks wasn’t enough for him to have moved on. Not that there had been anything between them to move on _from_ , she reminds herself. She knows it’s completely irrational, but she can’t quite get rid of the insidious idea as she watches him, chewing distractedly on her lower lip.

Clearly she has not moved on from whatever unspoken _thing_ there was—or was not—between them, despite her desire to do so.

She ends up sitting in a booth at the local cantina, angled just so she can see the door but she wouldn’t be the first thing he saw when he walked in. He would, she knew, eventually. For someone who can’t drink in public the man seems to love a cantina. Propping her feet up on the table, she nurses her whiskey and pretends that she’s not waiting for him.

The hours stretch on, and as they do a horrible emptiness twists in her gut. What if he doesn’t come? What if they’ve already left the planet again? For the first time since she left she is struck by what a terrible mistake she made in leaving, all because she’s afraid of a future that’s not even written. She slams back her fifth whiskey and drops her head down onto the table in front of her with a loud groan of frustration, not caring who hears.

“Dune? Is that you?” a male voice asks. For a moment her heart leaps into her throat and she thinks he’s finally here, but the voice has a lilting quality, and it’s not modified by a modulator.

She knows that voice.

“Val?” she says in disbelief, raising her head to stare at him with wide eyes.

His blue eyes sparkle as he smiles his wide, dazzling smile down at her, and it makes her heart ache. She never thought she’d see that smile again.

“You look amazing,” she tells him, a little stunned by his appearance. His dark hair is longer on top—he appears to have given up trying to tame the curl that always flops its way down onto his forehead—and he’s grown a short beard that softens his square jaw. He’s slimmed down quite a bit from from his army days, but even though he’s lost some of the excess bulk he’s still more built than two thirds of the men in the cantina. The dark bands that match her own just peek out below the short sleeve covering his right arm. She wonders idly at the fact that he appears to be alone.

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “You’re looking surprisingly good for someone who looks like they’re drinking their feelings.”

Oh, Val. Why’d he have to know her so well, after all this time. She just sighs heavily and beckons the bartender over to the table again.

“Can I join you?” he asks as he gestures to the seat opposite her.

Cara scoffs at him. “As if you have to ask.”

He smiles wryly at her as he settles into the other side of the booth, shrugging. “Maybe you’re waiting for someone.”

It’s all she can do not to spill out everything in a rush. She can at least wait for him to get a drink. The barman comes over and she orders another two whiskeys, smirking as Val smiles at her fondly.

“How do you know I still drink whiskey?” he challenges, humor keeping his tone light.

The withering look she shoots him is weakened by the grin she can’t keep off her lips, but she doesn’t care. Somehow it feels like not a day has passed since she last saw him.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks.

Val shrugs. “Oh, not much. Laying low in between jobs. NRI has a safehouse here.”

She gapes at him as the bartender returns with their drinks, then leans in closer once they’re alone again. “You’re _intelligence?!_ ” she hisses incredulously. Val just laughs at her and nods, like it’s nothing. “Should you be telling me that?”

“What, Cara Dune is gonna sell me out? Never,” he chuckles as he takes a sip of the amber liquid.

Another thought occurs to her and she leans back slowly, trying to keep from looking too wary. Karga said he’d scrubbed her chain code, but that didn’t mean the Republic had given up on her bounty. She tries to keep her voice as nonchalant as possible when she asks, “Should I be worried?”

“Despite the fact that it’s clear you’re hiding from _something_ , no,” he tells her. His face is open and honest, and she relaxes. Besides, she’s like 99% sure he couldn’t hide something like that from her, even if he is a kriffing spy now. “I’m not here to bring you in, or whatever you think might happen. You can relax, anyway. Braidwin’s dead, and I don’t think anyone else cares about his little vendetta.”

“Wow,” she breathes, letting the information soak in. Between that and the chain code, she might be actually safe now, whatever that means for people like her.

Val studies her for a few minutes as they drink in silence. “So,” he says eventually, “you gonna tell me who you’re simultaneously hiding from and hoping shows up?”

Cara groans. “Can you just pretend for a minute that you can’t see right through me?”

“Sorry,” he grins, clearly not sorry at all, “not likely.”

“I think I kriffed up big time,” she sighs. “I tried to leave before I got in over my head, but it was too late.”

The frown on Val’s face is concerned and contemplative. She wonders what he’s thinking, how he’s interpreting her cagey statement. “There are some things not even you can run from, Cara,” he says finally.

It’s hard not to flinch, even though she knows he’s right. She’s known, in some capacity, since the moment she left the Razor Crest six weeks ago. “I think,” she replies quietly, staring down into her whiskey, “that this time, instead of saving myself, I might have lost everything.”

She’s so wrapped up in her own misery that she doesn’t realize Val has moved until the cushion next to her dips and his strong arm wraps around her shoulders. Almost reflexively she slides her arms around his waist and buries her face in his shoulder. The wet smear of tears against her cheek is momentarily surprising.

“Hey,” he murmurs as he pulls her close, “don’t be so sure. I have it on good authority that Cara Dune is a difficult one to extract from your heart.”  
  
She sniffles a bit and smiles despite herself. “Thank you, Val,” she mumbles into his shoulder.

“What are friends for?” he says lightly.

“I thought they were just for covering your ass while you commit treason.”

“That too,” Val laughs. His hand is rubbing comforting circles on her back and she only reluctantly pulls back, huffing as she wipes the mortifying tears off her face.

It’s then that she catches movement by the door out of the corner of her eye and turns to see a Mandalorian standing frozen in place, staring right at them. As soon as he sees her looking he flees back through the door.

“Kriffing hell,” Cara swears loudly. She’s more than aware of what he probably thought was happening here.

Val had followed her gaze and looks back at her now, clearly amused. “A Mandalorian, Cara? Really? You couldn’t find someone more straightforward to fall in love with?”

“Kriff you,” she half-laughs, half-sobs, tears still thickening her voice. She swats his shoulder and he moves out of the booth to allow her to get up. She wants to go run after Din, but she pauses, uncertain. “Val…”  
  
He pulls her into a brief hug. “Go get ‘im, Cara,” he whispers into her ear. When he pulls back he tucks a small slip of paper into her hand. “I can trust you to be discrete,” he says meaningfully. “Let’s not make it another four years, yeah? I want to meet him someday.”

“I’m not sure if I should agree to that,” she jokes, but she knows that Val understands her real meaning. She feels the weight of what’s on the paper heavy in her hand, of a trust that can’t be broken by time or distance or her own fear. It grounds her, and she knows what she needs to do. “Goodbye, for now.”

“Goodbye, Cara.”

To her relief, Din has not gotten far by the time she leaves the cantina, slowed down by the kid’s small steps. She’ll never understand why the Mandalorian doesn’t just pick him up more often. A small part of her hopes that he’s moving slowly because he wants her to catch him.

“Din!” she calls breathlessly as she runs up behind him. “Wait!”

His shoulders tense up, but he stops and turns to look at her. She stops a pace from him, feeling out of breath in a way that has nothing to do with her short jog to catch up with him. Now that she’s here, her confidence is wavering, though. What if she’s wrong? What if he doesn’t feel the same way about her?

He’s apparently not going to make her job easier, though; he stands there, staring at her, that implacable helmet utterly unreadable. She tries to smile with an easiness she doesn’t feel.

“So, uh, you found me, huh?” she says, and it’s more strained than she hoped. “Couldn’t make it a full two months?”

He’s silent for a beat, and then says flatly, “I didn’t know you were here.”

She just barely keeps from wincing at that. “Well, that’s a lucky coincidence, then. I was starting to get tired of being on my own.”

“I could see that.”

Her eyes go comically wide, she’s sure. He’s already turning away from her again and she puts out a hand to stop him, grabbing his vambrace. “Kriff! That’s— It’s not what it looks like,” she pleads. He pauses, but he doesn’t fully turn to face her. “Val’s an old friend from my rebel days. Just a really good friend, I swear,” she explains. She can practically feel the skepticism eminanting from him. “Besides, I’m not even his type,” she adds with a smirk she can’t help.

“How is _that_ possible?” Din actually snorts derisively. “Who is?”

“Well, ah, you, probably,” she grins at him.

A beat passes, and then her implication hits Din. “Oh.”

“Din,” she says, her expression going serious again. She tugs slightly at his arm and he finally turns back to face her. “I missed you. I missed you both.”

“We missed you, too,” he replies carefully. His voice is steady, betraying little, but even that is telling.

The hope that swells in her chest is nearly overwhelming. She lets her hand drop down his arm and threads her fingers carefully through his, wishing desperately that they weren’t wearing gloves. As their fingers twine together she gives his hand a cautious squeeze and is rewarded by one in return. Her teeth worry her lower lip by habit, unable to mask the small, tentative smile spreading over her face.

“I want to be with you,” Cara tells him, hoping it’s enough to convey the depth of her feelings but not enough to seem desperate. Even if she feels that way, a little. “If… if there’s still a place for me in your lives.”

“Of course,” he replies, like the answer is obvious. Maybe it is. “You always have a place with us.”

She doesn’t fight the radiant smile that takes over her face, grinning so wide it makes her dimples ache. Val was right: she hasn’t lost everything, not even close. For the first time Cara runs towards what she wants instead of away, and the feeling is strangely exhilarating.

She doesn’t say the words. Not yet. Not because she’s unsure of his feelings; not because she’s scared. For once, she’s not. Standing in the middle of a dusty road, the dried remnant of tears on her face, she knows it’s simply not the right time. They start walking toward the ship, hands still linked together, and she knows.

It will be, soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> NRI: New Republic Intelligence. Sorry, I've been reading/writing too much spy fiction lately, and characers for other fandoms are sneaking into my fics. 😂
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments, they mean everything to me!


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